Contrast of Winter
by SyriMoon
Summary: Running errands for his father, Jizabel falls ill from the cold, and Cassian volunteers himself for the role of nursemaid.  Pairing neutral


Few things set the English gentleman apart as their own breed quite like their almost shrewish, stubborn pride. While it was true that a humble man of class would never pare put or pitch a fit (such behavior was the domain of women) they all had a nine year old boy within them. He would stamp his feet jealously, hurl his fists and scream till his face was blue rather than have to bend and concede to the will of another. And through all of this the gentleman's outward appearance scarcely changed, as he'd settle showing his displeasure with a calm and scholarly debate, or a bawdy, loud brotherly chatter, depending on the amount of liquor going around.

All this, however, the natural law of London, so deeply ingrained into the minds of properly brought up young men, was all but lost on Jizabel. Something, he thought often, must have been terribly wrong with his mind. No, it wasn't his hunger for the warmth of human blood, or his fascination with the inner working of the living human body. Oh no, it was his inability to truly conform to the standards of society.

True, he could put on a wonderful mask, one so elaborately crafted that he could keep up the charade for years if he had to. But he could admit,. His tipping point was far, far more weighed than most.

He blamed it all on that damned coat. And no, he h didn't care that he'd had the problems far longer than the coat.

Such a handsome coat it was, really, not only in style but in the very make of the garment. Even without the soft satin lining, hand carved silver buttons shone to a gleam and the decorative stitching, it still would have been an impressive piece. Tightly woven, not a thread out of place, it was certainly an expensive coat. The lining lay against the wool in a perfect, rippleless marriage, not a pucker to be seen, and nowhere did the seams pull or stretch out of place. And even better, it had been a gift from his father. Just thinking about Alexis purchase the coat just for him made his stomach made his stomach flip upwards, and his chest feel airy and warm for a fleeting moment.

Still…Jizabel had yet to actually WEAR the coat. Sure, he hadn't flung it off when Alexis first draped it around his shoulders. Then, despite the fiber it was made from, Jizabel had felt a reluctance, no matter how fleeting, to ever take the jacket off. Perhaps it was the weight of his father hands, so warm upon his shoulders as he wrapped it around him, for a passing moment, Jizabel let himself be immersed in a fantasy, likening the feeling with being tucked into a war quilt as a child. He felt protected, not only from the cold, but from all the pain and fear and BAD in the world.

What a dangerous folly.

A man who indulges in such a trivial daydream could hardly call himself such. The pastime of little boys. Keep it up, and he knew he'd be calling an asylum home soon.

Perhaps it was the emotional backlash from his moment of weakness that prevented Jizabel from wearing the coat. While the wool itself was enough to make his skin crawl, what the coat was TRULY made of that sickened him.

While the long black coat was made from the soft fiber of lambs and the long days toil of silk worms, what it was truly made OF was a different matter. It was stitched just as much with an underlying malice and trickery as it was cotton string. Buttons held it closed, but spite kept it together.

Guilt ate at his insides as he pondered this. He hated thinking such things about his father. Alexis's brand of caring may have been unconventional and tough, but to reduce it down to malice…Jizabel didn't have it in him to do such a thing. He should be the grateful son his father wanted him to be. He should be wearing the coat he picked out for him. After all, it would do him some personal good as well. As of now he could barely feel his fingers anymore.

It was late afternoon, and Alexis had asked Jizabel to make a small, quick trek across town to pick up a few things for him, and Jizabel was only too happy to oblige. So, armed with a short list in his father's bold writing, he'd set out, acquiring Alexis's favored tobacco and Scotch with ease. But he hadn't realized how far away his last stop was, clear on the other end of the district. He only had enough money on him to pay for the package he was to pick up, so he couldn't hire a cart to take him there either.

The first half mile hadn't been so bad. He was still alight with the hope to please his father by returning quickly with his chores done well. But the longer he walked, the further he went, the colder he got. The fact that he knew he'd have to turn around and make the whole distance back wasn't of any comfort either.

"Couldn't he have had whatever it was delivered?" he muttered under his breath to no one in particular, although a few passerbies did stop to look and take a listen. He gave each of them a warning glare, silently telling them to mind their own business while memorizing their faces, in case he decided they annoyed him too much.

The skyline was already beginning to darken when Jizabel finally reached the address on his paper. It was a handsome manor, almost cottage like. Nestled among a small cluster of trees, it seemed very isolated, though it was still within the confines of the city.

"…Wealthy as this bastard is and he couldn't afford to post this?" he grumbled, his shoulders giving another involuntary shake. He had to admit, the house looked very warm and inviting…perhaps whoever lived there would be kind enough to offer him a drink to warm his bones.

Any hope of that, though, was dashed the moment the door opened. He'd barely more than pulled the bell when it swung, revealing a young man waiting for him.

Jizabel had to pity the poor thing. Not an ounce of color to its hair or skin. An albino, undoubtedly, probably sold into civil service by his parents. Couldn't blame them.

'Pity,' he thought as the thing showed him into the parlor, 'it's actually somewhat pretty.'

"The Master will be with you shortly," he said in a clipped tone, a slight accent coloring his tone. With lowered eyes he left the room to summon the master of the house.

Jizabel savored the heat radiating from the fireplace, waves feeling like hot bathwater across his numb skin.

The master, it turned out, was just as queer as his butler. A man of the orient, he had his long hair bedraggled into a tie and his glasses askew, and looked like he'd just escaped a mauling.

"Oh…hello." He greeted breathily, a faint smoke emanating from his robes. "You must be Mr. Hargreaves boy?"

Whether he meant it in the familial sense or the "errand boy" sense, Jizabel didn't know, so he nodded curtly either way, wondering just how any more protocols of social etiquette the oriental was going to break.

"Right then!" he smiled, looking around his room bemusedly. "So you'll be after the…certainly...probably? Yes." And without another word he left again, passing by his butler in the doorway, seemingly without even seeing him.

The albino saw himself back into the parlor and went to start at the hearth, just to one side of the flames. Folding his arms severely, he stared at Jizabel. Not with malice or contempt or even interest. Just…stared.

Jizabel looked away, not really wanting to deal with the habits of someone who may very well be mentally deficient. Besides, he was already gaining a throb behind his eyes, and didn't want it to grow into a full on migraine.

Finally, the half-gone Chinaman returned with a simple brown paper parcel in his hands, pressing it into Jizabel's. He almost dropped it, his fingers still half frozen and sore. He wondered if he was in danger of frostbite.

"Well. Then. You'd best be getting home now," he smiled, "before it gets dark."

'So much for hospitality,' Jizabel thought bitterly as he was shoved back out unceremoniously into the cold. He didn't care how busy the man was; surely he could have spared five minutes for a cup of hot tea.

It seemed even harsher out now, though he'd been inside in the warmth for all of six minutes. And this time he had his hands occupied with carrying the curiously heavy package, so he couldn't even cram them into his pockets.

The walk back was even longer than to journey away, though truth be told it was probably just in his mind. Shadows were quickly falling across the streets, darkening the few people still scattered about it ominously. Jizabel found the gloom fitting. He wasn't much for the poetically macabre. At least, not in the overblown, sappy writing sense. He longed for the truly gruesome. Real beauty. Anything else was just a whore with a lot of makeup.

Which is how he found the street, as well as his current mood. Bleak and depressing, like the feel of a gothic play.

Lamplighters began setting the streets aglow, and the amber light seemed to taunt Jizabel. He half wanted to stand beneath one and warn his hands on the glass, but he knew better. The best course of action was simply to hurry home. The longer he stood out here, the worse off he'd be.

The last 3 blocks were torture. He shivered and quaked, and his fear of a migraine seemed to be realized as his head aches and throbbed with each step. Twice he nearly dropped the package he'd been entrusted with, his hands not seeming to have enough in them to keep it upright.

Not so much as a sliver of daylight could be seen once Jizabel finally trudged up the steps to the grand hotel that now served as his…well, home, of sorts.

He expected to feel relief as soon as he stepped through the doorways, but it was marginal. The upper floors weren't much used and therefore no fires were lit in the grand room. No, he'd have to wait to escape to his bedroom before he could truly warm.

Bare electric bulbs lit the otherwise dark hallway to the lift. Generally, Jizabel took the stairs, but he didn't trust his surely frostbitten feet to carry him safely down them, and a broken neck was NOT what he needed after the afternoon he'd had.

The lift gave a sharp lurch as it began to move, gears and pulleys groaning at their workload despite being well maintained and oiled. As it jolted, Jizabel had to lean heavily into the wall at the back to keep from pitching forward. The sudden movement threw him off balance, and he felt strangely dizzy as he descended. Even once the lift doors pulled open he remained braced against the wall, waiting for the vertigo to pass.

The hall he walked into now was more welcoming, more brightly lit than the one above, being the corridor to Alexis's quarters.

He had to rap 4 times to get his knuckles to connect fully to the door, loud enough to actually be heard.

"Come in," his fathers voice carried through the door, and Jizabel obeyed.

The heat seemed almost overwhelming as he closed the door behind him. Alexis liked it stiflingly warm, and it was evident by the temperature. Or perhaps Jizabel was feeling it far warmer than it was.

"Good evening, father," he greeted respectfully as he came forward. Long tendrils of grayed hair fell forward, the wind having whipped much of it from his fasten. He made no move to brush the hair aside though, partly because his hands were still full and partly because he preferred it this way. A safe, secure barrier, though what he felt he needed protection from he wasn't sure.

"It's late." Was all Alexis had to say by way of a hello. "I sent you out two hours ago."

Jizabel nodded, more of his silvery hair coming undone. He finally just set the package down and reached behind him, pulled the rest of the mass free from its clip and tucking it into his pocket.

"My apologies, father," he murmured. "The last house was further than I had anticipated. I walked."

Alexis studied him silently as he spoke, seated casually at his desk. "You walked all the way there?" he asked, a hint of…was that bemusement in his voice? Jizabel couldn't be sure.

A nod. "Yes sir. I got everything you required." And he laid the rest of his purchases on the desk, and even had a few coins in change to give him.

Eyeing the parcels and bags, Alexis gave a brief nod. "Thank you, Jizabel," he said curtly. "But it was foolish of you to walk all the way there. Surely you knew how far it was.

"I…I didn't realize it was all the way acro-"

"You grew up in this city your entire life and you still don't know the districts," Alexis accused flatly as he went about finding places for his purchases to live. "You know, Jizabel, this stubborn pride of yours is going to be the death of you."

Jizabel tried to swallow the lump growing in his throat. 'Father, it wasn't pride that-"

"Honestly, Jizabel. This need of yours to just go about things your own way. I would have given you the money for a carriage if you'd have asked." He sighed, as though feeling the weight of such a disappointing son. "And here I thought I'd beaten that independent streak out of you."

Jizabel felt his face turning red with shame, the blush feeling even hotter than usual. Bowing his head as low as he could, he stared at the floor as he murmured, "I'm so sorry, father. It won't happen again."

"Don't let it," he warned, and Jizabel took that as his permission to leave.

He began shaking as he closed the door behind him, his temperature fluctuating once again in the chilly hallway. His head throbbed more than ever, this time with shame, he knew. He could feel a tight pressure building behind his left eye, and he wasn't too pleased about it.

Cold, aching, and ashamed of himself, Jizabel trudged back to his room, one floor above and three hallways down. Another room, even beneath Alexis', was also his, but it was certainly not for sleeping, which was his intention at the moment.

His room was also cold and barren feeling, not having a fire lit all day. They had a radiator, but it was a spiteful thing, having fallen into disrepair, and was unreliable. All the same, it seemed less laborious than tending to the hearth.

With the little energy he had left, Jizabel started fiddling with the device, pulling the crank every which way he could. Finally, his patience, the little he had, wore thin, and with a good beating and a volley of curses, shakes and well placed kicks, he got the clunk of metal to start doing its job. It was a meager heat, but it was better than no warmth what so ever.

Too exhausted to even take off his pitiful excuse for a coat, Jizabel sighed gutturally and slid down the wall next to the heater, knowing that the sorry excuse for a machine would never give off enough heat to actually burn.

Still, though he sat right next to it, he couldn't stop shivering. He swore, there couldn't be any more warmth in his room than there was outside, for he felt no better. He tucked his numb hands under his arms and crossed his legs beneath him, and still the only part of him with any feeling was his pound, still pounding…he could hear the blood thrumming in his ears even, the only sound apart from the clanging and coughing of the radiator…he wondered if it was even still running…

He was just so cold.

)o(

He wasn't sure if it was sleep that had claimed him or unconsciousness. Whichever it was had been a brief visitor, for the first thing he saw was his clock on the dresser, reading half past ten. Or at least, he thought it did…for some reason, his dresser seemed an awful long ways away from him, and the dial blurred more and more as he looked at it.

The second thing Jizabel became aware of was the fact that he COULD see the clock. Light filled the room, amber colored light dancing and flickering off the surfaces, making the shadows sway. And everything else.

He clenched his eyes against the pitching and dipping the room was making. Everything was churning like a ship deck, and it made his headache worse.

Realization number three- he'd never had a worse headache in his life. It was a sick pain, feeling like his brain was being squeezed from all sides. He envisioned sticking a needle into his temple and draining out the fluid, thought about the relief it would bring.

Every heartbeat seemed to push even more blood against his skull, though he knew physically that wasn't the case. He dipped his head forward, feeling so heavy, but the movement only caused a spasm to shake across his eyes, and he whimpered, clutching his hand to his head.

"Serves you right for walking around London in those clothes." Came a voice in front of him.

Wearily, Jizabel lifted his head, a task that seemed to take the little strength he had. Beyond a pale curtain of hair knelt a small figure, too blurred to really make out. He wondered if his glasses needed a polish.

Unable to put a name to the intruder, he just stared, wondering who the hell had broken into his room. After a moment, though, keeping his eyes open seemed to take far more effort than he could give, and he let his eyes slide closed again, hoping the darkness could quell the pain in his head.

The crouching figure, however, wasn't content to just let him be.

"Damn it, Jizabel, wake up," he prodded, giving Jizabel's shoulders a shake and sending his headache spiraling.

Groaning softly through clenched teeth, he squinted, trying to make out the owner of the familiar voice.

A small hand came into focus, tucking his hair over his shoulders in a half-tender, half impatient way, clearing his range of vision. He was even so kind as to ease forward a little.

Jizabel's eyes slipped closed again as recognition dawned. "C-Cassian, what the hell are you doing in my room?" he demanded, though through the fog of his migraine he didn't think his voice sounded all that imposing.

"I saw you shuffling in with one foot in the grave, that's what." He ground out. He tugged something at Jizabel's front. Glancing down, he found himself wrapped snugly in the thick coverlet of his bed. He stared blinking at the steel gray fabric, confused as to how it managed to find its way around him.

Come to think of it…when had he started a fire? He was sure he'd been sitting next to the radiator a moment ago, and now he was swaddled next to a welcoming, roaring fire.

Cassian crouched just a few feet from him, watching the boy (for in his eyes he was little more than that) stare bewilderedly into the fire, then back down at his blanket. His eyes were heavy-looking, a crescent of purple showing under his drowsy lids.

"I lit the fire," he commented, guessing the source f his confusion. "And be damned grateful I did. It was an ice box in here. And you weren't much warmer."

Still, though, Jizabel seemed to be only half aware of Cassian's very presence, let alone his words. Cass watched as his head began to dip forward to his chest.

"Hey, wake up!" he barked, a little more harshly than he needed to, though his childlike voice could only be so brash. When he shouted, it generally sounded more like a tantrum. "Jizabel, damn it! Try to stay awake for ten minutes, please?" To entice him, he held up the mug he'd had placed beside him on the hearth, and held it under his nose.

Jizabel felt a warm steam ghosting over his face, leaving a moist breath in it's wake. His nose was filled with the heady aroma of tea and mint.

"Huuuh?" Cassian coaxed, weaving the mug gently. "It's waaarm and sweeet…come one Jizabel, take it." He pressed the cup into Jizabel's hands firmly. "It'll help."

Pins and needles were still shooting through Jizabel's fingertips, making his grip feel tenuous. He stared down at the drink somewhat disdainfully, and tried to hand it back.

"Oh no you don't," the older of the two refused, shoving the ceramic back into his grip. "Just drink the damned tea Jizabel. You're half frozen, and you look like hell. I KNOW you don't hardly eat, or at least nothing worth while, so just drink the damned tea."

Jizabel must have been more than a little taken aback by his forcefulness, if his shocked expression was any indication. Still, though, he seemed reluctant. Again, Cassian pressed the other mans hands around the cup, but once he pulled his own away, the mug began to tremble and tip, sending a trickle of tea down the pile of covers.

Cassian swore under his breath and took the mug from Jizabel's shaking hands. He had to feel sorry for him, really. He looked so lost, staring down at the stain as the blanket soaked up the tea. His gaze then turned back to his hands, shaking with the effort it had taken to hold the cup steady. A small bit of realization seemed to dawn on him, as his cheeks flushed crimson and he tried, as ever, to duck his head behind the comfort of his hair.

"No you don't," Cassian muttered, though it was more to himself than to the doctor. "You're gonna drink this if I have to force it down your throat." And he seemed more than prepared to do so if need be. However, Jizabel didn't seem to have the strength, currently, to continue to defy him, at least not physically. Cassians own body was only so powerful, limited by his size, but when it came to being a stubborn ass, he could par with Jizabel any day.

Deciding to try a somewhat…softer approach, he cupped Jizabel's chin, turning his face upwards and causing the pale strands to part on either side. He raised the mug to Jizabel's lips, still tinged a slight blue underneath, and tipped it, trying to coax Jizabel to drink.

Really, he had little choice. Drink or choke was as far as it went. Hot tea flooded over his tongue, and Cassian was right; it was sweet.

It was almost painful as it slithered down his throat, not so much from heat but from the dry ache in his throat. He'd been too distracted by the drill in his skull to have paid it any mind till now. Instinctively he tried to turn his head away, clamping his mouth closed to not take another sip.

Cassian had other ideas in mind, and kept a firm hold on his jaw. He was sure he was probably hurting Jizabel, with the vice grip he had on his face, but hey, not his fault.

"Come one, just a little more, hm?" he decided the softer side may be more beneficial to this particular facet of Jizabel's personality. The Daddy's boy side. God he'd be slaughtered if Jizabel ever knew how he referred to him…

Jizabel slowly became more and more complacent with each sip. Cassian eased himself ever closer, and somewhere along the way he'd ended up seated more next to Jizabel on the hearth than in front of him. Eventually he even released his hold on his chin and wrapped his thin arm around Jizabel's shoulders, still keeping the mug pressed to his lips.

"See what happens when you just mind?" Cassian groused as Jizabel drained the last dregs of tea. He set the mug down with a soft clunk and returned to studying his subject.

A soft pink hue was finally starting to return to his skin, which no longer felt icy to the touch. His eyes, however, still appeared glassy and distant, He was sure Jizabel was probably half asleep. Or half unconscious, if he felt like being a pessimist.

"Hey, Jizabel, come on. Get up." He prodded Jizabel in the chest to get his attention. "You can't spend all night sitting here. You gotta go to bed."

Jizabel raised his head slightly again to look at Cassian, still obscured by heavy lids. He didn't seem like he really understood anything Cassian was saying to him.

Alright, Cass thought. Direct approach then.

Digging his heals into the floor, he reached down, took ahold of Jizabel's' hand and pulled with every bit of strength his underdeveloped body could muster.

Had Jizabel been at his full strength and able to resist him, Cassian was sure his attempt would have gained nothing but a sweat and mortification. Being little more than dead weight, though, helped. He was able to lurch the much taller man to a staggering stand, looking about as sturdy as a newborn deer. He was sure Jizabel; would have secretly liked the analogy.

He lead him as quickly as he could the short distance to his bed, hoping his lumbering form would somehow find it's way down safely. He had to admit, he held a little bit of second hand embarrassment for his current companion. Usually so immaculately put together and graceful, with an almost snobbish pride, it was…odd to see Jizabel taking on the appearance of a drunkard.

As he staggered, the coverlet fell with a soft brushing to the floor, and he guided him as carefully as he could, so his steps wouldn't be caught up in the blanket. He was pretty sure Jizabel was gonna stay where he fell.

The short trek did little to make Jizabel feel any better. It was six, maybe seven steps from the hearth, yet his legs dragged beneath him like lead weights. He wondered, disjointedly, if he looked as crosseyed as he felt, with the room doubleing everything he saw. In fact, his vertigo actually helped distract him from his ever-present headache, if only briefly. But considering how the dizziness churned his stomach…he wasn't sure wether he should count this as a blessing.

Finally, he felt the room taking a sharp turn upwards...or rather, him falling downwards. His stomach lurched, wedging somewhere near his heart as his fogged mind tried to react fast enough to catch himself, not wanting to meet the floor head-on.

Cassian would never allow such a thing, of course. He'd made damn sure Jizabel was aimed in the direction of his mattress before letting go of him.

He watched as Jizabel let himself sink into the mattress, his muscles loosening as he realized he wasn't going to tumble to the floor.

"See?" Cassian crowed. "Jerk, thinking I'd let you hurt yourself even more. Me, who's trying to help you!"

Jizabel sighed, turning to bury his head into his pillows. Cassian's voice sounded so brash and high, which only served to aggravate his distress. He hoped to drown out the sound, or at least to soften its edges in the fluff.

Cassian humphed, running a hand through his dark hair in contemplation as he studied the for beside him. Though warm to the touch now, Jizabel still seemed…off color. Perhaps he needed something to eat, he mused. But he'd have a hell of a time getting anything else down him at the present. The tea had been enough of a struggle, and he himself was starting to feel the effects of fatigue.

'I'll let him nap,' he conceded. 'And when he wakes up, we'll see how he's feeling.' Until then, though, he decided it was safer to just stay. Just for a while, of course.

)o(

It was still dark outside the next time Jizabel stirred. He awoke to the subdued light of a dying fire painting the walls of his room anemically. He wasn't sure if it was the soft lighting or just the sleep, but the pain in his head had eased, mercifully. However, it seemed to have left other bots of malaise in its wake.

Most prominently he noticed, he was so drained. Lethargic and heavy-feeling. Just turning over to try and read his clock was an adventure. One that proved to be useless though, as the light was too dim to let him see the dial. Not only that, but at some point someone had removed his glasses. He wasn't anywhere near blind by any means, but the world did take on a faint haze when he wasn't wearing them, just enough to make the clock unreadable.

He lay half on his back, twisted somewhat awkwardly in his bed sheets. He wasn't surprised, since he was still wearing his trousers undercoat. The only thing that had been removed was his tie. It didn't take him long to decide that there was a reason people wore pajamas to bed; he was just damned uncomfortable.

He pushed himself up to sit in bed. And gasped as his vision worsened almost immediately, though not into blurs. Rather, everything twisted and churned as his head swam.

He grimaced and pressed a hand to his forehead as he squeezed his eyes closed. He could hear the swelling of blood in his ears, a sound that would, ironically, be almost calming, with the gentle swoosh swoosh swooshing. But not, it served to aggravate him and his dizziness.

The bed sheets twisted in his other fist. He was trying instinctively to anchor himself down as his bed continued to spin. And the more he spun, the more his stomach began to protest.

"Ngh!" He would almost rather have his headache back, if this was the alternative.

"Jizabel?"

He jumped, not having realized there was someone else in the room. Yes, Cassian. He remembered now. He was the one who had lit the fire to warm the room. He now sat anxiously at Jizabel's side, having pulled a simple straight backed chair away from the never-used desk.

"Jizabel, lay back down." His tone was suggestive, but his actions forecul as he urged Jizabel back down by his shoulders.

But Jizabel resisted, turning as far away from Cassian as he could in bed.

"Well, fin. Be grumpy. I guess that's gratitude for ya" Cassian rumbled. However, his attitude lightened somewhat as he saw Jizabel struggling awkwardly with is coat, not seeming to currently possess the dexterity to remove it.

"oh, here," he finally interceded, tired of the near pitiful display. Against the younger boys protests he pulled the garment from his shoulders and helped guide his arms from the sleeves. It was a truly awkward affair.

Folding the coat haphazardly, he turned his attention to Jizabel's wardrobe.

"I'm not going to find body parts in here, am I?" he asked even as he pulled the doors open.

Jizabel didn't dignify the sarcasm with an answer, and just watched with measured contempt as the midget rifled through his clothes. Finally, he turned, holding a long flannel robe.

"here." He tossed the robe on the bed, in Jizabel's lap. 'Put that on. You'll be more comfortable."

Through still-swimmy eyes, Jizabel studied the garment, mentally measuring the effort it was going to take him to actually put it on.

His growing exhaustion must have been writing plainly on his face, for then Cassian cast him a sidelong glance and offered, "I can help you change, if you need."

The very thought brought the heat into Jizabel's face. Cassian, he tolerated him. At moments, he was even bemused by him…Lord knows he owed him at least that. He dealt with Cassian with a lot more patience than he usually indulged most people with, but even still. This was not the amount of intimacy necessary for being seen unclothed.

"…I'm fine," was his quiet reply.

Quietly, he pulled his unbound hair behind him, out of the way, and cast Cassian a warning look. He got the message, and turned to busy himself with setting the wardrobe back in order.

Slowly, Jizabel began to undo the score of tiny buttons down the front of his shirt. At some point, Cassian must have loosened his collar, for the first buttons were already done.

His brow knit in frustration. The buttons didn't seem to want to work with him. It was like they were slicked in oil. His fingertips kept fumbling, jerking off the tiny fasteners. Every few moments his gaze flickered up to Cassian, still waiting patiently for him.

The harder he tried, the worse the situation grew. He could feel his temper flaring, and couldn't believe he was becoming so angry at an inanimate object, but really, but now he felt like the buttons were taunting him.

After a while, Cassian looked over his shoulder, surveying the difficulty Jizabel was having in just removing his shirt.

'I can go help him and get my head chopped off- possibly literally- or I can sit here and watch him frustrate himself into a tizzy. Huh, plumb choices.' And of course, he couldn't just stand there and watch him flounder like that…

He did his job wordlessly, pushing Jizabel's hands aside (then slapping them aside warningly) without a sound and undoing each button with a gentle flick of his fingers.

Jizabel fully intended to give Cassian a piece of his mind on the matter, but once again, just the thought of such an exertion was too much to handle, and he resigned himself, miserably.

Cass could feel Jizabel's deep lavender eyes boring holes through his skull. He was sure that he wasn't exactly thrilled with this, but at the moment, Cassian could deal with that. Actually, there was a lot of things Cassian would love to tell Jizabel to just deal with. But hey, baby steps.

Finally, the last button moved, and he parted the lapels, easing this as well down his shoulders. Jizabel stiffened, and Cass could guess why. He'd seen them, once. The grooved, white scars that painted his back like coils of rope. Somme even reacher up across his shoulders, showing where his fathers whip had curled around his shoulders to strike.

He averted his eyes, acting as though he didn't even see them. And really, in the dim light, he barely could.

Cassian reach behind him all the same, though, to pull his hair away from the shirt, so it wouldn't tangle. He felt Jizabel jump as his hand brushed fleetingly against the back of his neck.

He too winced, but not in discomfort, but rather with what he felt.

"Jizabel, you're feverish," he remarked, laying his hand around the base of his neck. Jizabel shudder, not liking the touch of his hand so close.

Cassian could match him pound for pound with stubbornness if he tried, though, and took him firmly by the shoulder to feel his brow, to make sure his neck wasn't just heated from his hair.

But no. His forehead was warm, far too warm for the air in the room, or the covers to have caused.

"…You see? This is what carelessness get you," he snapped as he tried to cover up the small ebbing concern growing in the back of his mind. "You've gone and got yourself a fever, God knows to what. What if you catch pneumonia? Ever think of that?"

Course not. Even if he had, why would Jizabel care? He infuriated Cassian, with his complete disregard for his own well being. He very well COULD be laying in a hospital some day, dying of pneumonia, and the only thought on his mind would be the inconvenience it would cause for that bastard Alexis.

But as much as he'd love to bash in Jizabel's head for his future stupidity, that was neither here nor there. Better to focus on the present.

Jizabel resigned himself to Cassian, feeling far more drained than he could ever remember. He savored the soft, cool feeling of his hair as it laid against his back,l but it faded too soon, the heat of his body taking over quickly.

Somehow, Cassian managed to dress him again in his nightshirt, and though he loathed to admit, he was more comfortable this way, so long as he didn't focus on the shame churning in his chest. What would Alexis think, to see him in such a state of disarray and dependence? And more importantly, dependence upon someone who was not him?

"M-my father," Jizabel croaked, "Have you told him I'm ill?"

Cassian whipped around to stare incredously at Jizabel, sure he'd heard him wrong.

"Why would I?" he queried. "And besides, I've been at your side all night."

Jizabel fell back into his pillows, the bruise-like feel of his newly aching muscles not completely unwelcome. It was a stimulating feeling, keeping him somewhat grounded in the fog.

"He'll want to know," he asserted. "Please, let father know I'm not well."

Cassian had to turn his back to Jizabel again to refrain from sending him a verbal assault. Oh, how he would love to blame this on his rising temperature, but he knew Jizabel far better than that. This was caused by an illness not in the body, but in the mind. Surely the young doctor, at some base point, knew better, knew Alexis would only come to see him if he could be promised to see a good show of suffering.

'Yeah. He'll come see you, Jizabel, when you're so weak you can't even say a word to him.'

And the most pathetic part would be, Jizabel would keep the hazed memory and treasure it like a precious gem.

By the time he finally turned back around to speak to Jizabel, the young man had already drifted back off to sleep, his breathing soft and even.

And Cassian just couldn't help himself, he really couldn't. Jizabel…he hated Jizabel, yet he cared everything for the brat. His insufferable devotion to his father, his willingess for self sacrifice in his name. Even his obsession with his younger brother, Cain, could be linked back to his daddy issues.

And still he seemed to have no idea. He wondered, as he sat gently on the side of Jizabel's bed, if he'd convinced himself that this was fine, this was normal. After all, people simply didn't speak of problems within the home, or anything personal really, so Jizabel had no one else to model after, no example of how his father should act, how he should act to his father. Instead, he played gopher, butler, even- Cassian's fingernails nearly tore holes in the sheets as it passed his thoughts- whore for his father, without so much as a bat of the eye.

His face was so relaxed right now, so smooth and calm. He wondered if he'd wrinkle early, just as his once blond hair had gone grey while he was still in school. He could imagine worry lines and crows feet already peppering his pretty face in his thirties, but now, he was serene.

The firelight made it hard to tell, but he swore he could see his face glowing pink. 'Knew he'd get a fever as soon as I saw him,' he mused, laying a small hand on Jizabels cheek, so gently he doubted the pressure would have broken the film atop a bowl of water. Indeed, his skin still felt hot to the touch. Not that he'd been expecting his temperature to cool since the last time he felt his skin, but all the same, it was worrisome. He knew Jizabel had been a sickly child, and now he rarely took care of himself. Cassian feared it really wouldn't take much of an ailment to finally take Jizabel away.

Outside, dawn was just beginning to paint the horizon gold, just a glimmer through the heavy curtains, but it posed as a reminder of just how exhausted Cassian was. Though strong, his body was still subject to the weariness of a life it wasn't fit to handle. He fancied the idea of crawling into bed as well, but knew Jizabel would have none of that. Instead, he early made himself comfortable in his chair, laying forward on the covers for a bit of warmth, and to keep Jizabel near…

)o(

Cold seemed to have become a familiar feeling to Jizabel. He was so accustomed to it it took him several moments to realize he was shivering from it. Of course, grogginess from sleep could also have contributed to that.

He pulled the covers close around him, the comforter wrapped clear up to his ears. Beneath the covers he curled his legs, tucking them against his chest as tightly as he could without snapping his spine.

Sleep still tried to keep claim on him, wafting over his in small spurts. He'd sink back to slumber for a mere moment, before waking again to his own teeth chattering.

Blearily, he peered around his room. It was now light outside, mid morning at the least, judging by the vivid light behind the curtains. He should be up, dressed and to work by now, but the heaviness of his lids and the chill of the room kept him from caring all too much about the wasted hours.

He buried himself as deeply into his bed as he possibly could, willing the malaise to be unable to find him there. Everything about him at the moment was seemed to hurt. His legs ached as the muscles stretched into the fetal position while his head still pounded. It was a slightly duller pain than earlier, so he supposed he ought to be grateful. Even still, it might have just been the soreness growing in his throat that distracted him from the headache.

He constantly turned, trying to get comfortable, yet every movement was a challenge. His limbs were tired, and his strength seemed to be failing him. And no matter how many ways he lay and curled and stretched, his vague dizziness and chill never left him. Even the sleep he had seemed to have been of little use. He didn't feel rested at all, and wondered if he'd spent his entire nap tossing just as he was now.

Something caught his attention from the corner of hiss eye. A small tangle of limbs and locks half folded across his bed.

Cassian snored softly as he slept, his bent posture probably contributing to that.

'He'll be as sore as I when he wakes,' thought Jizabel, taking note of his back and shoulders.

As though on cue, Cassian began to stir. A sharp volley of curses was his good morning to the world as he tried to sit up straight.

"God damn it!" he hissed. His back felt like it was burning. He pressed his hands into his spine, trying to ease the tension.

"For once I actually feel my age," he muttered, thinking for a moment that he spoke to an empty room. It never took long, though, to take notice of a an like Jizabel. Though lean and pale, his presence was mistakable.

Two sets of bleary eyes peered at each other, one clouded with sleep and the other glassy with fever.

"…Good morning, Jizabel," Cass finally murmured, still half asleep. He got no reply, nnot that he was expecting one. Instead, he just turned over again with a low, low suffering groan.

He watched Jizabel make a very convincing impression of a threatened armadillo beneath his blankets. He was naught more but a little lump of linen and hair, the silvery strands separating his face from the world.

He had to stand up on toe to reach that far across the bed with his child-like arms, but all the same, he braved the effort to pull Jizabel's hair back. It shushed so faintly he wondered if maybe he was imagining the noise.

Two purple orbs turned slowly to glare at him.

"Cassian," came his muffled voice. "Why are you _touching_ me?"

Ignoring him for the moment, Cassian set his hands to task, separating Jizabel's long hair into three bundles and weaving them. It was a clumsy affair, with Cass feeling like he needed a third hand to accomplish it. Jizabel's frequent vocal protests and halfhearted attempts to shuffle away didn't help any. Still, when he finished, he admired the somewhat misshapen braid with a bit of pride.

"To keep it out of your face," he explained. "And to keep it from tangling while you sleep."

Despite the valid excuse, Jizabel still scowled at Cassian. In retaliation, he threw the covers over his head, plait and all, to hide from the brat.

"Oh quit acting like a 12 year old!" he shouted, and yanked the covers back. "Besides, you'll smother."

Instead of lecturing him on asphyxiation, Jizabel just pulled the covers back up to a respectable level, coughed, and tried to go back to sleep. But the…man just wouldn't leave him alone.

His palm felt cool on his brow, he had to admit. Though he felt chilled, his face felt tight and hot. He hadn't even noticed until now.

"I think you're getting warmer," he mused. "And you should probably eat too." And with that, he turned to leave before Jizabel could protest the thought of food.

The door clicked shut with a dull thud, leaving Jizabel in moentary peace.

He sighed and dragged his hands over his face, scrubbing at his eyes. They felt so weary. Actually, most of him did. His bones still protested his excursion form the night before, and he felt as though his body were disciplining him for his recklessness. It was as though his tendons were screaming and scolding at him for not taking better care of himself, much the same way he knew Cassian was wanting to.

Cassian…he wished the dwarf would just let him be. A night's sleep, a few cups of tea, and he'd be fine. Illness wasn't exactly a foreign occurrence to him, both in experience and observation. True, fevers and coughs weren't exactly his medical forte; far too clean and neat, but none the less…

He had half a mind to go baracde his door, slide the dresser in front of it to keep Cassian out, but he couldn't find the motivation to do it. Even the hurt pride at having his hair fixed by him like a child couldn't get him up and out of bed. He decided to just tell him to keep his nose in his own business when he came back.

The opportunity came not long after, as Cassian returned with a hot bowl of porridge and set it on the bedside table to cool. Jizabel glanced at it disdainfully. He hadn't asked Cassian to bring him anything to eat, damn it. The assumption that he'd just take whatever was handed to him without question was almost insulting. He chose to ignore the meal on principle.

"Jizabel," he shook his arm forcefully. "Come on Jizabel, quit being a stubborn ass."

Not helping his cause, Jizabel thought disdainfully. Commanding him to submit was a redundancy unlike any other. He didn't just do as anyone asked, after all. And if he wasn't hungry, he wouldn't eat.

He tried to get his inentions through with a well placed glare, a simmered look directed right at Cassian.

"Cute, Jizabel. An adorable child, truly." The words sounded so odd, coming from someone who, physically, looked no older than 12, if even that. He often seemed more like a precocious grammar school boy than a man 9 years Jizabel's senior.

"But honestly, I don't have the tie to fuck around with 'cute'. I have a lot better things to do with my day than to stick around and spoon feed you."

Just the thought sent Jizabel cringing.

Cassian smirked at the ghastly look on Jizabel's face, only made all the more horrific by his pallor. "What's wrong, Jizabel? Don't want me to feed you your breakfast? No?" He pushed the warm bowl of oats into his hands. "Then sit up and eat your daned meal yourself."

A surge of anger coursed through the doctor, and he had the sudden urge to fling the bowl across the wall. The image of the shattering ceramic, the crash of the pieces clattering to the floor in tiny shards was immensely satisfying. In his mind, the thick cereal would stick and dribble down the wall in globs, cooling and congealing into a rather brain like matter.

However, the idea of having to clean up the less was enough to keep him in check. Jizabel despised such lower signs of domesticity.

As he sat up, he breathed in deeply, as yet another wave of upsetting dizziness assaulted him. Byt now, it was more just an even, vague feeling of disjointed weightlessness, rather than episodes of overwhelming vertigo. He wondered if he should feel privelaged.

The cereal was still warm and slightly sweet. A thin, sticky brown ribbons revealed a small amount of molasses snuck into the oat meal. And although Jizabel enjoyed in porridge with molasses, he felt a bit miffed. It was as though Cassian had been preparing the dish for a finicky child.

"Do you truly feel the need to look over me as I eat?" he demanded, spoon suspended halfway to his mouth. 'Do you think I'm a halfwit, who can't even feed themselves?"

Cass shook his head. "No, I just think you have ore pride than you do hair, which is saying something. So I DO feel the need to make sure you actually eat."

"I'm a doctor," he countered. "I'd THINK I'd know the importance of a good eal for the ill."

"Yeah, you'd think," he murmured loudly. The irony was laid on thick beneath his voice.

Choosing the high road, Jizabel slowly ate his breakfast. He wanted to enjoy the sweet bowl, but several factors prevented him from doing so. First, Cassian's ever watchful gaze, like a vulture. Second, the still vivid knowledge that Cas had felt the need to doctor up the oatmeal to make it appealing to him, added to how he seemed to know he'd most prefer molasses.

The third reason was far more physical. The cereal was war and rich on his tongue, but as he swallowed, seemed to thicken and drift sluggishly down to his stomach, where it settled into a tight lump of a ball.

Barely halfway through the bowl, he wiped his mouth and handed it back to Cassian firmly. He looked as though he were about to protest, so Jizabel shook his head to shush him.

"I are half of it. Be grateful. I can't stomach any more of it."

Cassian decided NOT to take that as an insult to his cooking, but rather a testimate to Jizabel's physical state. His nose always flared and wrinkled somewhat when Jizabel was particularly displeased or uncomfortable, just as it was doing now.

Accepting the bowl, Cassian let him be. The last thing he wanted to do right now was force feed him full and have to deal with the…repercussions.

The sounds of rustling sheets filled the quiet room as Jizabel settled back down, presumably for another sleep.

Something prickled the back of Cassian's mind irritatingly as he watched. Jizabel…he was normally stubborn against all wills but his fathers (and Cassandra's, but Cassian suspected ulterior motives behind that one). He was one to fuss, although in a dignified way, should anything ever go awry. He didn't deal well with the unexpected, with change, or with things beyond his control. They set hi off balance, left him with nothing to cling to. Unless it was Alexis who had thrown him into turmoil, in which he clung to his father as though he were his savior was than his destroyer.

But it wasn't the Cardmaster, but an illness throwing stones into Jizabel's path today, and yet he seemed to be fighting it very little. He was either of sound enough mind to realize, through his medical training, that fevers and sickness were an unavoidable part of life and must be delt with, or he just felt too poorly to ut forth the effort into a tantrum.

Cassian had his suspicions.

Outside, the sun was shining still, but the harsh sway of branches and the way the ladies on their way to make calls were bundled and bowing, Cassian could tell the air was still frigid. And true to thought, as he paced over to the window he could feel the cold air wafting towards him. He imagines the air like smoke, or like shoots of water in an Oriental painting, looking so snake like. That's what they felt like they should look, in any case.

He held his hands out, churning through the chilly air, half expecting to raise them and find them dripping with water.

He glanced over his shoulder, across the room at Jizabel.

'Better get ore firewood,' he mused. 'Before he gets cold again.' He was no physician, but he knew warmth and rest were essential to the infirm.

He snuck quietly away, closing the door as softly as possible behind him so as not to disturb his charge.

)o(

Jizabel was shivering still when he returned. He didn't so much as shift as he walked about the room, despite the noise he made as he built the fire up again.

All the while Cassian kept glancing over his shoulder, in an almost obsessive pattern. On one hand, he didn't want to wake or disturb Jizabel, and on the other…this sleep was bothering him. He'd only been gone about an hour, yet Jizabel seemed to have exhausted himself, doing nothing buy lying there.

Although he didn't really fear that Jizabel would stir, he was quiet and slow as he crossed to the bed nonetheless. He eased the covers from Jizabels' grasp and pulled them down to pear at his face.

His expression was pained looking, though being asleep he suspected the majority of this was from a nightmare of some sort. A slip of the back of his palm revealed the spiking temperature Jizabel was nursing along.

The sun was barely past afternoon. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

)o(

"Father?" Jizabel murmured drowsily, turning his head on his pillow. It felt heavy, like it had been filled with wet sand. The dry, gritty feeling behind his eyelids helped harbor the illusion. The ache was enough to keep him from opening, or at least wanting to.

A moment after he spoke, a calm sigh escaped his lips as a cool touch brushed over his face. He leaned into the sensation, the cold, gentle sensation, more than welcome. The room felt stiffleing, like a fire still lit in August. In contrast to the heat of the room around him, the chilled sweeping across his brow and down his cheeks was a mercy. He felt a tickle along the side of his face, wet trails of water leaving rivelts on his overheated skin before dampening his hair.

"Father…father, I'm thirsty…" his voice was a croak, sounding as dry as his eyes felt.

The touch left him, and in his darkness he whimpered, half at the loss of grounding, and half at the soreness of his body, his throat, chest. He was becoming more and more aware of the pains in his limbs, and he squeezed his eyes even tighter against them.

Another touch, a hand easing behind his head, something cold and smooth against his lips. Glass, with water lapping tantalizingly against his parched lips.

"Sip," someone whispered to him, a voice that could only be Alexis, though it sounded faint. And he did as he was told, slowly drinking from the glass. He felt his throat ease, water seeming to fill in the cracks that caused his soreness.

As he drank, he could feel the person near hi shifting, and felt his head beging cradled in someone's arm.

"Don't you want anymore, Jizabel?" came the same voice as he pursed his lips and tried to turn away fro the cup.

"Hmmm…" was all he said, a sigh and a soft groan. He let his weight sink against his father, gravity taking to lie against his stomach. The body heat made him feel warmer still, but the contact was worth it. Again he felt coolness spread across his brow, tainting his cheeks and throat, and finally settling under his hair at the nape of his neck, the same tender hand keeping it in place.

)o(

Cassian cradled Jizabel in his lap, tucking a few loose strands of gray hair back into his braid. He also undid the top several buttons of his nightshirt, trying to cool the man as much as possible. It was a tightrope balance; his skin was so fevered, but he didn't want him to get chilled and shiver again.

The last 6 hours had been long and tiring. Jizabel fell in and out of a fitful sleep. Unconscious, he tossed weakly as he dreamed. He'd get tangled in his bedsheets, and attempt to kick them off. Cassian couldn't blame him; he must have felt like he was burning.

He'd been through two deep bowls, already, each filled with cool water. Over and over he dipped the hand towel into the bowl, wrung it out with one hand and swept it over Jizabel's face. It seemed to calm him, somewhat. He'd settle down, letting his head rest heavily on Cassian's knee. It must have felt wonderful, he thought as he squeezed more water from the cloth. He laid it over Jizabel's throat, and instinctively, he leaned his head back, exposing the long stretch of pink skin down his neck and through the top of his chest, as though asking Cassian to help him more.

Eyebrows knitting together in worry, he swept the cloth past his collarbone and over his chest, or what he could reach. It warmed so quickly, he ad to rewet it every few moments.

"Damn it, Jizabel," he swore, swirling the rag into the water. He watched distractedly at the small whirlpool that rose in the ceramic dish. "Thisis what comes of your foolishness."

He wasn't stupid, Jizabel. He was bright, quick and sharp witted. But Cassian had never met a man so ruled by his emotions, depraved and broken emotions at that. Jizabel was fiery, but it was a meager fire, one kept alight only with constant care, kindling and a watchful eye, lest it should extinguish.

Alexis was the oil that kept his flame alive, and his brother was the kindling. He lived for those two, if for very different reasons. Without one, or without the distraction of the other, Jizabel would cease to be Jizabel. Already so emotionally unhinged, Cass shuddered to think of what Jizabel could become…

But where he fit into this, he didn't know. Logically, he knew Jizabel probably saw him as merely a being in existence. Not particularly notable, or at least the fact that he was still breathing led him to believe this. It was better to be unnoticed by Jizabel than acknowledged and disliked. Yet, Cassian fancied himself as the one who, in leu of feeding the fire, instead gave it some sort of shelter from the winds and rains that would snuff it out permanently. What could he say, even he enjoyed a folly from time to time.

The shadows grew heavy as evening dragged on, painting the room in somber bruise shades.

Alexis. The name, in the best of situations, was enough to make Cassian's stomach twist. He owed at least something to him, he knew, for allowing him a place in Delilah, an opportunity out of the cold, but still. That small mercy did not in any way compensate for the true nature of that man, one who would so willingly use his sons as playthings, as puppets.

And so…hearing it pass though Jizabel's lips just made the name blister all the worse.

Every once in a while, he'd open his eyes, staring around glassily, lids heavy, not really seeing much of anything, so Cassian knew that he wasn't thinking straight. But all the same…the way he assumed that it was his father spending all this time and effort to care for him, it stung. Why would he think Alexis even cared? He didn't know he was ill, even, and here was Cassian, hardly leaving his side. He shouldn't be bitter. Jizabel was feverish, delirious as well, it seemed, so his world was a jumbled mess at the moment. Yet he couldn't keep it from burning.

Wet, drag, repeat. It was a nice rhythm to fall into, somewhat soothing, for both of them. As the wind began to die down and stopped screaming in the windows, the only sounds in the room became the soft crackling of the fireplace and Jizabels heavy panting, interjected every few moments by the trickle of falling water.

Maybe Jizabel didn't like the quiet?

"Jizabel, If you don't get well soon, you'll fall behind on your work," he said casually, as though making light conversation over breakfast. Heh. Even is good health that was a ridiculous option.

"And…and you're going to let Cain get ahead of you. You know you can't let him go too long unsupervised." ' almost like yourself…'

If Jizabel could hear, he made no move to show it.

He was getting to the bottom of the dish again, but felt too weary to go refill it again. He dunked it one last time, folded it over twice, and laid it across Jizabel's forehead, pushing back his long bangs as he did so.

"Jizabel…" he whispered, barely audible. "What am I going to do with you?"

)o(

The room was unbearable. Someone must have let the fire burn far too high. Such a fool; the room could catch ablaze. Or perhaps it already had?

Jizabel tugged at the collar of his shirt, pulling it down as far as he could, but the many buttons still kept it confining close.

He groaned, half in anxiety and half in frustration. He squinted his eyes open, surprised by how dark the room was. It should be vivid orange with the blaze from the hearth. Instead, it was dim, just tinged scarlet. Still, it was enough to hurt his eyes. Or maybe it was just his exhaustion that kept pulling his lids down again. He felt so drained.

He started to pick at the small buttons, but his hands just fumbled. Over and over he plucked at the tiny circles, but they slipped inevitably from his grasp.

Eventually he let his hands fall back to his bed in agitation, still pulling meakly at his clothing. He was hot, tired, and everything was so hazy.

Cassian watched at his side as he started twisting in frustration, His hands restless searching for some sort of distraction. They scuttled over the buttons of his gown, not making any progress. So instead he just tugged futilely at his clothes. He was uncomfortable, he could tell, and his tossing in the bedsheets wasn't doing anything to help.

Quietly, Cassian picked the large bowl from the bedside table and crept quickly from the room, though he knew that he could make all the racket he wished and Jizabel would pay no mind. He…he wasn't truly here at the moment.

The bathroom tap had to be coaxed to provide the tepid water he wanted, and even then it was a somewhat violent coaxing. Had his bones been any denser he'd have dented the spout. Instead, he just bruised his hand.

He sighed at the slow drizzle of water, and kept flickering his eyes back over to the doorway. He didn't like leaving Jizabel. He knew that a few minutes alone would do him little damage, but, well…something just made it hard to leave him alone. And besides, Alexis would note his absesne sooner or later. Or worse, Cassandra would begin to grow bored. He shuddered the thought of meeting the high priest upon his return.

He hastened back to Jizabel's bedroom so quickly water sloshed out of the bowl and onto his feet, leaving a wet trail behind him. Thankfully (unfortunately?) Jizabel was just as he had been, tossing in a half sleeping fit.

"Jizabel…" he murmured softly, hoping to be heard. "Jizabel, you're only making yourself hotter, turning about like that." No response.

He began to worry his bottom lip between his teeth as he dunked the washcloth into the water, beginning the now familiar ritual over from the beginning.

Just like before, it was about the only thing that seemed to calm his patient any. He stiffened the moment the cold water slid down his face, then seemed to deflate, all but melting into the mattress as the tension in his muscles left.

"See?" he murmured, rewetting the cloth. "You should start listening to me. It would do you well to let go of some of this stubbornness you cling to.

A gentle sigh from Jizabel's lips was the only sound he made, and Cassian wasn't sure if it was any indication of actually hearing him. He doubted it. Jizabel was far too proud to have reacted so calmly.

He wasn't the only one beginning to cal. As Jizabel stopped thrashing and the room grew quiet, still, drowsiness washed over the man's attendant. The air was warm, the firelight flickering with quiet crackles.

Cassian rubbed his eyes and lay the rag on Jizabel's brow momentarily. He couldn't fall asleep, not with Jizabel so ill. It wouldn't do for him to nod off. He was already close to bringing a true physician in to see him, but wanted to avoid it at all costs. Too messy a situation. Delilah had plenty of doctors under it's employment, but still…Too much red string to cut through there, and the anger it would bestow upon Alexis…just that thought alone should be enough to keep him alert and attentive.

But the shock value of the thought seemed to wear off quickly, and again he felt his eyes grow heavy. He tried to avert his attention onto Jizabel, sure that the situation should shock him into wakefulness.

"You're wearing me out, kid," he sighed, rubbing harder on his forehead while gently mopping Jizabel's. He smirked slightly, wondering what sort of temperamental rage he'd face if Jizabel could hear him call him kid. After all, despite his actual age far surpassing Jizabel's, he knew full well how hard it was to see him as he really was.

The water sprinkeled back into the dish with every ring, spattering with a clear drip and tinlkeing noise, a little like small wind chimes.

"I wonder if you'd choke if I tried to give you water again," he thought out loud, noting the slight slur to his speech. He entertained the thought of fetching a glass for him, but the trek to the bathroom seemed an awful long way. Better to just…just stay put…and he was growing so tired…

)o(

"Don't you worry, my Jizabel. I'm here now."

The voice carried so distantly, like someone calling from across a moore, the wind cutting the sound every other word. But he heard it, doubtlessly, Cassian did.

"Now, no more fretting, boy. You'll just tire yourself."

Cassian struggled against the bonds of slumber, finding himself on his feet before he was even fully conscious. Bleary, his eyes searched around the room, trying not only to orientate himself but also to find the owner of the voice.

His search was a short one, but one that reaped less than desirable results. There, seated comfortably on the bed, cuddleing a half-conscious Jizabel in his lap, sat Alexis.

Cassian made a queer noise, halfway between a choke and a horrified gasp,

"Sh!" came the sharp but low reprimand from his superior. "Quiet. You'll disturb him!"

Cass could hardly process the scene before him. Alexis was seated as calmly as could be, one arm wrapped almost…protectively around Jizabel's shoulders, the other occupied by softly brushing through his sweat-dampened hair. He'd unbraided it, combed it, stroked back from his brow with the back of his hand. From his mouth came the gentlest shushings, noises Cassian didn't think a man as imposing and cold as Alexis was capable of making. But there he was, murmuring in a voice one might speak to a colicky infant in, and Jizabel seemed to be responding well to.

He lay so still in his father's grasp, his eyes half open now, as though making an effort to break through his feverish haze. He blinked heavily and often, but sought to find his father's gaze nonetheless. And the look on Alexis's face, as he lowered himself closer to Jizabel, to make himself easier to find…such a pristine mask. Seamlessly displaying a perfect façade of worry and love. What a performance.

"A…Alexis…" he breathed. "What…what are you…"

"I hadn't seen my son in two days," he snapped in a hiss, though a smirk tugged the corners of his mouth bemusedly. "I became concerned. What else would I do as a father?" When Cassian could think of no answer, he continued, "I've called for a physician. One of ours, of course. I'm surprised at you, Cassian. Letting him fall so ill."

"I…sir, I was afraid of le-"

"Of what? Of me?" he suggested with a devilish smile. 'Whatever for? Or, mayhaps you just wanted to use this as some sort of excuse of validation? Prove you're more capable than your body deems? Well shame on you. Because of your selfish pride, Jizabel had to suffer like this."

Cassian ground his teeth, wanting to bad to inform him that it was HIS selfishness that had caused Jizabel to fall ill in the first place.

"…Father?"

Both men in the room looked down. Jizabel's voice was a croak, having been used to do little more than groan pitifully for the last several hours.

"F-Father…tired…" he sighed, barely above a whisper.

Alexis wasted no time, smoothing his bangs away from his face to clear Jizabel's vision as much as he could.

"Don't fret, Jizabel," he cooed. "There's a doctor on his way to tend to you. Just rest till then."

Jizabel looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't have the willpower. So instead he allowed his eyes to slip shut, so calm under the watchful gaze of his father

Alexis waited till he was surely asleep before rounding again on Cassian.

"Really, you ought to be more responsible than this," he chastised in an even voice. "What if my son develops pneumonia from this? What then?"

Cassian had no answer. He merely slunk over to sit down in a far corner of the room.

The physician arrived about ten minutes later, letting himself in. He exchanged few words with Alexis before seeing to his patient.

Jizabel wasn't nearly so congenial about this man seeing to him. Eyes squinting open, he clenched them closed again, muttering agitatedly and turning away fro his touch and deeper into Alexis's.

"Now, boy, calm down," the doctor grumbled. Cassian had to note his questionable bedside manner. Alexis turned Jizabel away, holding him as still as possible. Considering Jizabel's physical state, this wasn't too difficult.

He took his pulse, felt his throat and listened to his labored breath. His temperature was raging, and he was wheezing, though Cassian's personal opinion was that this was more from stress. Maybe because he couldn't bare the thought of Jizabel having fallen to pneumonia under his care.

All this took scarcely a quarter hour, after which Jizabel was left with a tea to drink for his fever and a salve for his breathing. It must have reeked terribly, for Jizabel turned his head away with a sour grimace as the doctor rubbed it all along his throat and chest.

The tea must have been more pleasant. He didn't fight his father as he held the brew to his lips. This may also have just been because…well…it was Alexis.

His father praised him grandly as he finished the cup with no fight, just as you would a toddler after being dosed without a fit. He even laid a soft kiss into his hair.

Cassian wondered vaguely if he'd be acting so fatherly if he wasn't in the room with them. Or maybe he would, and he was taking advantage of Jizabel's bemuddled state. Which now made him afraid TO leave them alone.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice in the matter. The tea sent Jizabel into a peaceful sleep, and Alexis carefully eased himself from beneath him to sit at his bedside more comfortably.

"You ay take your leave, Cassian," he said in a clipped tone. "You've done enough damage."

Like hell. "But sir, I can help care for hi-"

"Cassian, you will do well to remember your place. My son needs rest, not you in here pestering him. Now, please see yourself out."

There was little he could do to protest, and he left, feeling now almost as sick as Jizabel, but his unrest was deep in his belly, a deep unease.

He knew now, at least, that Jizabel would recover. With real medicine, his fever would lower soon and the infection abate. But now, it would be Alexis at his bedside when he awoke, giving the impression that it was he who had nursed Jizabel through the entire ordeal. He doubted he'd even remember Cassian's guardianship.

Was this…jealousy? He wondered. It might have been…or maybe just a feeling of injustice, and being cheated. Of how Jizabel would now have more to link with the love and positivity he felt for the man, more lies to see as affection.

It disgusted him. Everything about Alexis did. And the more he dwelled on his anger for Alexis, the less he felt anger to Jizabel, and the more pity he felt. He may have been naive, but under such masterful manipulation, who wouldn't be…

)o(

He saw nothing of Jizabel for almost a full 7 days, a week where he fretted while going about his work, his mind always split into two places. He knew Jizabel must be…alive, at least, or the entire establishment would be buzzing about it. And besides, he could hear Jizabel's voice from time to time, when he felt brave enough to sneak by his doorway.

When he did finally see him again, he was crossing the courtyard, the quickest way to cross their headquarters. And he was dressed in a thick, black coat, a very fancy one, he noted. He even had a new looking scarf and leather gloves to complete the ensemble.

But beneath the fancy outerwear, Jizabel was pekid, looking pale and shaky, and it was evident his illness had taken a toll.

He didn't stride so much as shuffle, arms crossed securely across his front, guarding against his newfound enemy, the cold. In fact, he was so hunched against it, he almost didn't notice Cassian, waiting for him at the doorway.

"Jizabel…I…It's good to see you. I heard you'd been ill…"

Jizabel looked at his peculiarly, his eyes still a little hazy but nodded. "I' fine," was the only explanation he gave.

"Oh, but…um…I heard it was pneumonia…"

"Nearly," Jizabel dismissed, and he turned to walk down the corridor to the foyer, weaving so slightly to the left.

Cassian half wanted to follow him, he looked still like he might fall over…but he thought better of it. Besides, how queer would it look? Sure, Jizabel knew that Cassian fretted over him often, yelling at him just as frequently, but still…

As he himself turned to exist the opposite way, a cough echoes through the corridor, and his name.

"Cassian?"

Not sure he'd really heard, Cass turned on the spot, to see Jizabel barely turning his head a millimeter to acknowledge him.

Cass stood patiently. "Yeah? What is it?"

The young man turned his eyes downwards, and licked his dry lips anxiously. He turned away once more, as though unwilling to so much as look him in the eye. In fact, he'd begun to walk off again before he said, barely audibly,

"Cassian…thank you."

)o(

)o(

For Suni, again


End file.
